


Too Much Too Late

by stereks_fifth_nipple



Series: I'm Being Cruel to Be Kind [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Crossroad Deals, Cure, Demon, Demon Cure, Demon Stiles Stilinski, Demon deal, Fighting, Good Peter, Good Peter Hale, Gore, Heartbreak, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Kanima, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Murder, Nightmares, PTSD, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Resurrection, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Has Nightmares, Stiles Stilinski Sells his soul, Stiles saves Derek, Summoning, Well - Freeform, Witches, crossroad demons, morally dubious
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-04-25 15:16:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14381364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stereks_fifth_nipple/pseuds/stereks_fifth_nipple
Summary: It was savage. The way he ripped her throat out.It was very remniscent of a wolf, only he was never supposed to be more than human. The Reicher witch never even saw him coming. It took weeks of tracking her, and he long stopped caring about things like people, feelings, or what used to be his humanity.





	1. Here Lies His Humanity

**Author's Note:**

> And the story continues...

It was savage. The way he ripped her throat out.      

 

It was very remniscent of a wolf, only he was never supposed to be more than human. The Reicher witch never even saw him coming. It took weeks of tracking her, and he long stopped caring about things like people, time, or how far he’d have to go.

 

For a while he couldn’t understand why he would possibly still care about the wolves, why he would still want to rip the witch apart. Then he realized he might just be holding onto the revenge, the anger.

 

Maybe it isn’t about the wolves at all. Maybe it’s entirely about being free, to lose himself but also to lose the last of what attached him to his humanity. The very last thing to cross off his list.

 

The spray of her blood was warm when he tore her throat out, and it was everywhere. There wasn’t a spot in the motel room that wasn’t covered in it. A dirty little place with floral bed covers and décor from the 70’s.

 

The police might have trouble solving this case. They might have trouble identifying her.

 

He didn’t count on Peter. He supposes no one ever does. He didn’t care why Peter was there for the witch, most likely for the same reason he was.

 

The wolf looked surprised to see him there, an expression he has rarely seen on the man’s face. When Stiles smiled it was all teeth. Red, blood-covered teeth and jet black eyes.

 

That surprised Peter again.

 

“What the Hell happened to you, Stiles?” He asked, voice low.

 

“Had to cross my ‘t’s and dot my ‘i’s. I’ll be on my way now.” He stood while wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, and his movements were more fluid than ever.

 

“This is how you did it, isn’t it?” Peter asked, voice filled with something that sounded like _wonderamazementshockprideconcern_. “This is how you brought him back?”

 

Stiles shrugged, not feeling the need to dignify that with an answer because the answer is obvious. Maybe he just doesn’t care enough to answer anymore. It’s hard to tell because it’s hard to remember what it was like to care. Only weeks ago he knew.

 

“Scott McCall was never worthy of you.” Peter stated. “Thank you for saving my nephew. Have you… created a backup plan?”

 

“A backup plan?”

 

“A way out of this.”

 

“Why would I need a way out of this?” Stiles laughed.

 

Peter stilled. “You aren’t planning on living out the rest of your existence like this are you? Do you know what Derek will do when he finds out what you did?”

 

“Derek can do whatever he wants now.” Stiles snorted. He waved his hand nonchalantly, as if he wasn’t waving off the love of his life. The love of his mortal life. “I gave him a second shot at it, tell him to use it.”

 

“Use your brain, Stiles. You might be a demon now but you obviously saved him for a reason. That must have been a powerful reason for you to have sold your soul.”

 

Stiles shrugged again, the casual indifference angering Peter. He slammed his fist on the table. The wood splintered and the platform top fell, along with the head that was on top of it. “You can’t just fuck off to hell. You have pack who love you.”

 

The boy- demon’s lip twitched. “I don’t know what love is, silly wolf.”

 

Within one blink of they eye and the next Stiles was gone. Had blinked out of existence and back into it in another place. Another realm for all Peter knows.

 

Derek is going to reach an all-time high in the self-deprecation department.

 

\--

 

They leave messes everywhere. He doesn’t really feel bad about not cleaning up after himself anymore.

 

\--

 

Tearing apart the rest of the coven wasn’t actually part of the plan. It wasn’t Stiles' fault they wanted to avenge their fallen sister.

 

When the first witch got within ten feet and started making demands in order to repay them for their sister’s loss, Stiles punched his fist through her chest to grab her heart. There are a few screams and then magic is everywhere. He and Aednat splash the walls with their blood and flesh, and if there are a few misplaced limbs, well who is he to blame but himself?

 

A strikingly familiar looking witch stabs his shoulder with a blade, but the blade is nothing more than an inconvenience. She drags it down his sternum and he inhales the air happily like he used to inhale the smell of freshly cut grass in his neighborhood.

 

Stiles rips that very first, he has already forgotten her name, witch’s daughter’s throat out the same way her ripped out her mothers in that dingy motel room; with his teeth. When that last tendon can no longer hold her head to her body, it snaps and severs. How poetic that her head rolls into a table that broke in the scuffle.

 

Stiles looks around at the mess and then down at the wound on his chest, and he laughs, and he laughs. Aednat says she’s never seen a demon who so savagely rips into people with their teeth and laughs about it.

 

Aednat doesn’t mind.

 

His chin is a little filthier, a little redder, than the last time he had the opportunity, but he supposes the quantity of mortals this time around will do that.

 

He’s more loose limbed and freer than he ever was as a human. Maybe Peter was always right. He would make an amazing something. That something was just never a wolf.

 

 


	2. Ain't No Grave Can Hold My Body Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted this chapter to be a slight insight of _some_ of the things demon Stiles has gotten up to. I think it's important for the development of his character. Let me know what you think in the comments!

"I can't believe that bitch ripped my favorite tee shirt."

"That tee shirt looks exactly like all of the other tee shirts you wear, black usually looks the same." Aednat rolls her eyes. "And, in her defense, you were trying to open up her chest cavity while she was still breathing."

Stiles only laughs and lets his eyes flicker black. "You said that you wanted her to regret hunting your brother. I think she does now. Well, did."

Aednat shrugs and grabs a towel from behind the bar to wipe off her hands. "You have got to be the most disgusting demon I have ever met. Even my brother wouldn't have thought to show someone their own kidney."

"What can I say, I've always been creative." 

"I hate you."

"You know, you've been saying that for months and yet I'm your favorite travel partner. I wonder why that is?"

She shoves his arm to throw him off balance.

\--

"Please," the man cries out. "I have a family."

"Was that supposed to persuade me to spare you? Or was that an offering?" Stiles asks and presses the blade tighter to the man's throat.

"No, no, don't touch them! Please!" He's taking gasping breaths now, trying to calm himself.

Stiles grabs the man's wrist and slams his palm flat on the bar-top. Why do hunters enjoy the bars so much? "That sure seems like a far cry from earlier. Earlier you were perfectly able to hunt down our kind, and yet you tremble when we hunt you back."

"I was just doing what's right, that demon possessed a girl and killed-" The man was cut off by his own screams as Stiles lowered the blade and use the bar-top as a cutting board to cut a finger off like a carrot. 

"I thought about not even touching you," Stiles murmurs, trailing the tip off the blade across the back of his hand as if choosing his next slice carefully. "I thought about getting a hold of that wife of yours and just sending you her finger. Her ring finger with the ring still on it."

"No, don't. No no no." The man is sobbing openly now, maybe finally understanding his fate now that his pinky finger is glaring up at him, separated from the rest of his body.

"Then I thought, why do that when I can just take all of yours? You'll never hunt again. You'll never do a lot of things again," Stiles laughs out. "You would have still loved your wife had she lost a finger. I wonder if she'll stay with you."

Stiles chops and the screaming begins again.

\--

"I brought you a present," Stiles calls in a sing-song voice. 

Aednat looks up from her desk at him while he sets the box down in front of her. She cautiously takes the lid off before shutting it again with a bitch face. "Seriously."

"That didn't really sound like a question." He points out with a shit-eating grin. 

"Yeah, and I don't really remember asking for a souvenir." Her glare worsens. "Especially not in the form of a middle-aged man's fingers."

He snaps his fingers facetiously, "Dammit, I knew you would have preferred the wife's fingers."

She sighs at him and shakes her head. "What am I going to do with you, you little monster?"

Stiles brightens up. "I hear there is going to be a car show. I want one."

"You want to... go to a car show?" Aednat asks.

"I want a car," he says with a shrug.

"Mhm. And how many humans will you have to make your way through to get the car you want?"

Stiles doesn't answer but he bares his teeth in a mockery of a smile.

"Whatever, I don't care. Just don't get seen on cameras. The last thing I want is your face plastered for everyone to see."

\-- 

Stiles flops down in the armchair he had put in Aednat's office. How official for demon business. 

"A demon was kidnapped yesterday." 

Stiles snorts. "Okay, and?"

"The demon was kidnapped, asked about the location of a demon fitting your description, and released the demon without killing him." Aednat stared at him pointedly.

"What, and the demon didn't make were-kebabs?" Stiles shrugs the situation off. 

"Apparently, he wasn't in the mood," She answers flatly. "This isn't going to be a problem is it? You don't have any leftover feelings for that pack?"

"No, solve the problem however you like. I don't care." 

He's being completely honest, too. He doesn't care anymore. There isn't a leftover feeling of love, no pang of concern. They could all be skinned and turned into fur coats and he wouldn't- "Just out of entire curiosity, obviously, can were-creatures be turned into fur coats?"

She slams her head onto her desk with a groan. Why do all the ones she picks have to end up the most uncontrollable?

\--

Blood in his teeth is becoming a normal sight. He’s ferocious more often than not. He’s merciless and he likes to make people bleed. He’s creative and they suffer immensely. 

There’s talk of the monster called Mischief. You never see him coming because he’s a predator and he’s good at getting close before you even know it.

Friday nights are sweaty dances in nightclubs, visiting the bar frequently while keeping an eye on his bounty. They’re black, tight clothes and long party-ruffled hair. Fridays are bodies lined up perfectly behind the building, all posed in positions that amuse him. 

Fridays are when broad shoulders move like those of a lion, pupils are dilated with adrenaline, and every movement is planned 10 steps ahead of the execution. 

Friday nights have been the same routine, the same outlet day for him every week for the last five months. 

He didn’t expect to blink out of existence before finishing off the last human he had chosen. 

He didn’t expect to be summoned with his party clothes on, teeth red, and arms bloodied, to stand in a circle in what appears to be a very familiar animal clinic. He turns around and lets the black bleed into his eyes while he stares at the pack of Beacon Hills. 

Their looks of surprise and even fear make him laugh.

And laugh. 


	3. If You Play with Fire, It's Sure to Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pack's plan to save their Stiles.

“Jesus,” Scott breaths.

 

“Not quite.” Stiles smirks, and his smirk only deepens when he sees Scott wince. He sits down with crossed legs in the circle, in a more graceful motion than they’d ever seen, to face them. “I presume we might be here for a while?”

 

“As long as it takes,” Lydia says firmly. Peter crosses his arms in a ‘no-nonsense’ way from where he’s standing behind her. 

Stiles eyes are normal again when they roll. “I should have known you wouldn’t keep your mouth shut.”

 

“Well,” Peter smirks right back. “I’d say in light of recent events, you’re more of an idiot than I ever thought possible, so it’s no wonder you weren’t thinking.”

 

Stiles smile tightens but never drops. “I should've ripped your internal organs out when I had the chance.”

 

Kira’s mouth drops open in shock from where she’s standing toward the back of where he’s being kept. Toward the door, next to-

 

Derek. Next to silent Derek.

 

“I’m sure I can thank you for this,” Stiles sneers. Derek doesn’t respond, in fact he’s not even looking directly at Stiles, he’s looking at a spot just over his shoulder.

 

“Do you know what the date is?” Lydia asks.

 

“I know it’s Friday,” Stiles says. His eyes fill with black again and he looks down at the blood caking his arms. “I know you interrupted my Friday… routine. I know that I really don’t like when people interrupt what I’m doing.”

 

“It’s for your own good, you’ll thank us later, and it won’t even be sardonically,” Lydia says, looking a little too earnest. “The real you would hate being this.”

 

“In case you haven’t noticed, this is the real me,” Stiles laughs out. “There’ve just been a few changes.”

 

“Peter told us about what you did to the Reicher witch. To her coven a few weeks later. It’s gruesome, cruel, and not Stiles.”

 

Stiles’ eyes narrow but Scott interjects before he can say anything. “It’s almost been six months since you left, dude. Your dad is worried sick. We miss you. We would have come for you sooner, but we had to find a summoning spell and a cure before we did or you might have… you know.”

 

“You think I still won’t?” Stiles smile began to creep up his face again, but it isn’t really his smile. It’s distorted and wrong, harsh in a way it never was. “This circle won’t hold forever.”

 

“It doesn’t have to,” Derek finally speaks up from the back. Finally looks at Stiles. His arms are still crossed against his chest and he looks horribly guarded. “Just until you’re cured.”

 

“It rarely ever works, what makes you think it will now? For you?” Stiles questions. “I’ll slaughter your entire pack when I get out. Maybe I’ll leave you alive to deal with what you caused, and you’ll have lost everything for what? For a science experiment?”

 

Derek’s fists clench and he breathes through his nostrils hard. “Even if… it doesn’t work, and I lose everything. I couldn’t live knowing I just let you… So, sorry for the inconvenience or whatever you think this is, but you have people who care about you even if you can’t remember it right now.”

 

Isaac Lahey walked in carrying a tray of things, eyes instantly moving to scan Stiles’ face.

 

“My, my, how things have changed,” Stiles murmured. “Aednat would like to meet you, she loves souls like yours.”

 

She always did like the tortured souls hidden behind sweet eyes.

 

“I had to come back when Derek called me, apparently back from the dead. I didn’t realize your dumbass was going to get into this situation, but I guess I know you better than that.”

 

“You’re going to regret ever coming back to help them with this.”

 

“That’s okay,” Isaac says with a smile as sweet as ever. “You’re going to regret anything you say to me while you're like this when you’re back to human.”

 

Stiles bares his teeth at the room and jumps up to slam a fist on the barrier keeping him in place.

 

“Alright, I want everyone who doesn’t think they can handle seeing him hurt or like this, out. This is going to be a long process, and it’s going to be multiple times a day. It’s going to hurt, and it’s going to make you hurt.” Lydia says before she picks up a syringe.

 

Isaac, Kira, Liam, Mason, and Malia all leave. Scott hesitates and Derek notices. “Scott, you don’t have to be here for all of them. The first few are going to be hard, go on with them.”

 

“Okay,” he whispers. “I’ll be back, Stiles.”

 

“Rot in Hell,” Stiles growls, finally becoming more visibly furious.

 

“After this, you owe me. A whole day of whatever I want to do.” Scott leaves before Stiles can lash back.

 

The door shuts and only Lydia, Peter, and Derek remain. She flicks air bubbles out of the syringe and steps toward the circle.

 

Stiles voice is dangerously low. “Step near me with that thing and I’ll rip you apart.”

 

There’s a sting on the back of his neck and he feels his knees buckle. He gasps as he falls to the ground in the circle. Lydia steps inside the circle with Peter and Derek, who step ahead to grab his arms just in case.

 

“What the-“ She pushes the needle into his arm slowly.

 

“Sorry, Stilinski.” Jackson Whittemore’s voice is the last thing Stiles hears before his veins burn like a fire is coursing through his body. He thinks he screams, but then his eyes are rolling up into his head as he passes out.

 

\--

 

The next time he wakes up he’s clean. He’s tied to a chair in the circle, but he’s clean and he’s wearing large grey sweatpants along with someone’s slightly too big black shirt.

 

The only other person in the room is Peter Hale, who was apparently left to keep watch. Stiles yanks on the chains holding him to the chair. There are inscriptions on the cuffs, presumably to keep him in them.

 

Peter looks up at him and smirks. Stiles grinds his teeth together and yanks harder on the chains.

 

“I know you’ve probably gotten used to the power boost and all, but even you won’t be busting out of those chains, sweetheart.”

 

“They gave you the babysitting job?”

 

“I’m the least likely to fall for any shit you pull, but I also care enough about you to not strangle you.” Peter’s smile seems a little more genuine this time.

 

“Aednat will find out who took me and slit your throats.”

 

“Don’t worry about that, we aren’t in Beacon Hills,” Peter shrugs a shoulder. “The sheriff and Melissa are both safely hidden. You’ll be here as long as we’d like you to be.”

 

Stiles tries rocking the chair but it doesn’t budge, and when he looks down he sees he’s bolted to the ground.

 

Peter steps into the circle and Stiles jerks, but he can’t do anything about it. Peter’s smirk is still there, but there’s also something tight around his eyes as he runs a hand over Stiles’ hair. Stiles tries to bite at him but can’t reach.

 

“Stop touching me!” He says through clenched teeth.

 

The door opens again and Derek walks in, followed by Lydia. “Peter, knock it off.”

 

Peter puts his hands up in surrender and steps away from Stiles.

 

“Do you feel any changes at all?” Lydia asks.

 

Stiles just looks at her blankly. “I have a baby blue ’57 Camaro waiting to be picked up, and I have things to do. Releasing me any day now would be good."

 

“Alright, another one it is.” Lydia pops the cap off of the syringe and Stiles swallows.

 

This time, he lasts a few extra seconds before he passes out. He can still hear a ringing in his ears that sounds like his own screams, and warmth cups his neck before his head tips backwards.

 

\--

 

When Stiles wakes up again, it’s Isaac and Lydia in the room with him.

 

“Are you going to cooperate this time?” Lydia looks at him pointedly. “Do you feel any changes at all?”

 

“I’d say I still want to peel the skin off your face,” He snarls, upper lip curling.

 

“Isaac, hand me the next one.” Lydia commands, voice hard.

 

Stiles screams, awake long enough to feel more of the burn this time. He sees Isaac’s worried eyes, but before he can insult the wolf he passes out once more.

 

\--

 

Derek is tipping his head back to make him drink water practically the moment he wakes up. Most of the pack stands somewhere among the room this time.

 

“How do you feel about what you did to Jack Phillips in Colorado?” Lydia asks right off the bat.

 

Stiles recoils internally at the new pinprick of disgust he feels when thinking about the ribs broken open to show off the man’s organs. He showed them to Jack one by one, until he eventually died a few organs in from the shock.

 

“Can’t you give him just one minute before you shove another needle in his arm,” Derek growls out.

 

“The less time he has to be an asshole and resist the cure, the better.” She tells him before turning back to Stiles. “So? How do you feel about the dismembered hunter?”

 

Stiles clears his throat, which feels like sandpaper today. He feels like shit, and his skin feels overheated, but he still remembers to look smug while talking. “Did you know he was still awake? I showed him his own small intestine, kidney, and liver before he died.”

 

Kira covers her mouth with her hand and Lydia’s lip curls down in the corner before she swallows. She steps forward anyway and stabs him with the needle.

 

The heat is almost unbearable this time, and he can’t tell if he actually made a sound when his mouth dropped open in pain.

 

\--

 

He wakes while they’re still changing his sweat-drenched clothing this time. They don’t realize at first because he’s never woken this early after a dosage before.

 

Liam has just pulled a clean tee shirt over his head when he grabs the runt by the throat and shoves him up against the wall. There are a few shouts throughout the room and the air is tense, but he’s getting desperate at this point.

 

“Stiles, put him down.” Derek puts his arm out toward them like he’s going to reach for them.

 

Stiles yanks Liam forward off the wall and then slams him back against it again, hard enough to Liam to lose vision for a few seconds and for his head to bleed. “Don’t take another step toward me, or I’ll rip his throat out.”

 

“You don’t want to do that Stiles,” Lydia says.

 

“Haven’t you realized that I don’t give a shit? Hell, I didn’t even care for this one when I was human, did I?” He mockingly asks Liam, spinning and slamming him into a mirror hanging on the wall of this room. The mirror shatters and Liam groans. “I suppose I don’t really care about you trying to kill Scott, now, but it used to piss me off. Probably because you’re so much like him and yet you almost killed him over a girl. He wouldn’t kill for a girl.”

 

Stiles slams Liam into the mirror again, this time shards enter his back and the smell of blood permeates the air.

 

“I would for my brother,” Scott states, from his left. Stiles barely glances at him after the statement, but it’s enough of a moment for Peter to shove a syringe in his neck again, and he's almost too relieved to be furious.

 

\--

 

When Stiles comes to this time, his head is pounding like a migraine.

 

He can barely even lift his head from his chest because he feels so exhausted. His neck feels wet with sweat again and he can feel more than one of those little pinpricks of emotion deep in his chest.

 

He doesn’t want to feel.

 

“Stiles, can you hear me?” Lydia’s voice is a lot gentler this time, but he still can’t open his eyes.

 

A cold hand with thin fingers touches the back of his neck, and it feels great. “Stiles?” That’s Isaac. He just wants to leave, he doesn’t want to feel.

 

“Get off.” He croaks.

 

Two hands cup his cheeks and lift his head, so he faces somewhere more upward. Someone's lips press to his sweaty forehead, and he's so exhausted he can't even yell at them. He's not sure if he wants to anymore. Everything is confusing. “Only a little bit more, baby, and then we can be done. Just a little bit more.”

 

Stiles peels his eyes open slowly. The only people in the room this time are Derek, Lydia, Scott, Isaac, and Peter. Jackson is half in the doorway watching, though. His hands are trembling. He whines, “no, don’t want it.”

 

“You’ll appreciate it once you’re human again.”

 

“It’ll hurt.”

 

“Just for a few seconds, buddy, and it should be the last one.” Scott says hopefully.

 

“That’s not what I meant.”

 

Nobody knows what to say to that, but everyone looks a little bit sad.

 

He feels dizzy when he watches Lydia take the cap off this syringe. She moves to grab his arm and he starts shaking his head as much as he can, and gasping, “No, no, no, don’t-“ The plunger goes down, but instead of an all-consuming fire he feels a slow burn through his entire body.

 

The last thing he feels before falling under again are Derek’s hands and the weight of his guilt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts?


	4. God Knows, I’m Singing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Stiles made the deal he never planned on coming back. He never planned on the after. On dealing with the consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry this took so long! It kept not being long enough or angsty enough so I never updated, but now I’d rather give a short update than nothing so here we go. I already have a great idea for the next chapter, so that’ll be hopefully posted before the 6th.

When Stiles made the deal he never planned on coming back. He never planned on the after. On dealing with the consequences. 

He never planned on waking up in a guest bedroom of Derek’s place, cocooned in blankets to keep as much heat as possible close to his freezing body. 

He can hear the pack downstairs, low murmurs and the sound of glassware clicking in the kitchen; maybe plates hitting together.

Stiles hears his pack and can feel the charged energy, so he continues to face the wall next to the bed and burrows into the blankets tighter. 

As if he can hide there forever.

—

Stiles walks down the street casually, like he’s leisurely strolling by. He knows exactly where he’s going.

Who he’s looking for.

The rain doesn’t stop him and he strolls into the small shop soaking wet in only a t-shirt and dark jeans. 

The shop owner adjusts his glasses. “Can I help you with something?”

“Actually,” Stiles hums, drumming his fingers along the counter before locking the door. “I think you can.”

—

When Stiles wakes up his face is wet. He’s still cocooned in his blanket so the only thing showing is his face, and even that is facing away from the door and towards the wall still.

Warm blood is a sensation that nearly every inch of his skin is familiar with feeling. Stiles doesn’t know if that feeling will ever go. 

The bedroom door opens slowly, but he doesn’t jump or flinch. He’s seen it all. 

He’s been it all.

“Stiles?” Derek’s voice is gentle and laced with pity. Stiles clenches his eyes shut. “I brought some soup up. I know you’re awake in there.”

There’s the click of something being set on the nightstand and then there’s a dip on the bed. Derek sighs softly and rests his hand on Stiles’ back over the blanket. He whispers, “I’m so sorry, baby.”

Stiles knows. He knows how sorry Derek must be. That Stiles remembers what he did, that he did everything he did. That he ever had to go that far to save Derek. 

It hurts that he can’t do anything about that sorry, not even respond.

He breathes deeply and evenly, so that eventually he falls back asleep.

—

There’s a distinct sound a person’s chest cavity makes when punctured at a high speed. Like stabbing a hollow box, but wetter.

—

“Alright,” Peter claps from where he had been perched in a seat by the door. “It’s been three days Stiles, and I’m sick of everyone asking nicely. You’re eating. Now. Or I’m taking you to the hospital to see Melissa, and you’ll be fed through a tube until you decide to cooperate.”

Stiles’ breath hitches and he grasps his blanket tighter, until his knuckles turn white. 

The door opens. “He’s right, Stiles. We’ve asked you plenty, but I need you to get something in your stomach,” Derek says. “I brought some more soup.”

Stiles bites his lip to stifle any whimper that may have escaped otherwise. 

Why are they treating him so nicely? They’ve heard some of the things he’s done.

The bed dips, more carefully than when Derek sits on it. 

“You’re not the only one who has killed when not quite yourself and come back to regret it.” Peter murmurs. “I relive that moment with Laura almost every day. Every time I look at my nephew I remember that I took his sister away from him. You have people who understand and who don’t blame you for what happened. You saved Derek, and there were some minor casualties. We can work through that.”

Stiles huffs. His voice comes hoarse and older than it was months ago. “Minor?”

Derek jerks in surprise.

Peter grabs firmly onto the blanket lump and rolls him over to face them. When Stiles first looks at him Peter’s face shows determination, but it softens upon seeing the heartbreak on Stiles’ face. 

Peter turns to face Derek and kicks his shoes to the floor, nodding his head in Stiles’ direction. They both clamor onto the bed, on each side of the human.

“I know it hurts, and it might always hurt,” Derek says, almost apologetically, as he squeezes Stiles tighter. “But I need you to try. Okay?”

Stiles let’s out a sob but starts to nod, and the two wolves hold him tighter. 

—

The fairy was guarding something they wanted. She was fierce as well as strong. 

Her wings looked like sheets of sparkling vapor and they rippled with her anger. 

Her daggers were never going to be strong enough. 

When slashed at, her wings shredded like silk would. She screamed in pain but not for very long before Stiles stabbed her through on her own blades. 

Her life was of no value to him, but the cursed object she was protecting was.

—

The first time he stumbles down the stairs on shaking legs, all talking in the room instantly stops.

He’s wearing Derek’s old gray sweatpants but Peter shoved his sweater over his head after Stiles’ first attempt at leaving the bed, when he left the covers shaking.

When Stiles makes eye contact with Scott, Scott’s eyebrows scrunch into their hopeful, concentrating position and his mouth opens and closes where he hesitates to speak.

Stiles shifts uncomfortably with everyone staring at him. His best friend slowly walks over, his hands slightly raised toward him as if he’s one of the wounded dogs in the clinic. He probably doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, but Stiles looks tiny in those too big clothes and Scott wants to soothe.

He hugs his brother like his life depends on it, and for a moment Stiles doesn’t respond. Until he does, and the comfort makes him want to open up and cry.

—

It’s so much easier to break human bones than one might think. It’s starting with the little ones that seems to cause the most pain.

Starting with the distal phalange, then the middle, and moving on to the proximal phalanges. Then you can start on the hand; the metacarpus. If you’re good, you can get every small bone buried in the heel of a hand.

The ulna is easy, it’s so much thinner than the radius yet still right next to it so you can break both in the forearm at once. 

That’s 24 breaks per arm before you even get to the elbow. All 206 bones in the average human’s body takes hours.

Stiles is patient.

—

He still doesn’t really talk, but Isaac sits with him quietly. It’s comforting.

Peter starts teaching him how to make light, easy meals that keep him from collapsing completely and keep Derek from admitting him into a hospital. 

When he’s been back for a week and a half Scott brings up his dad.

“He really wants to see you,” he says. “You think you might be up for it?”

Stiles goes still for a long time, in a way he’s only been after the nightmares. The sun is almost entirely set when he finally moves. He gets off the couch and he leaves up the stairs.

They all know he’s getting back in his blankets. 

—

The man owed them a lot. There wasn’t much they could do to him to make him pay, though, he was a desperate man who didn’t much care.

There was one thing though.

The little girl’s dog whined from its position at the foot of her princess themed bed. 

He never got the chance to bark.

—

He doesn’t talk after nightmares.

He clenches his eyes shut like he’s hoping to disappear to anywhere but here. 

He doesn’t speak.

They all know when they need to give him a little extra room to breathe.

—

When the man came home and checked on his daughter it was so gruesome that he threw up everything in his stomach, continued dry-heaving, and cried in a horrible, sad way that no man should cry.

—

When the nightmares get really bad, he comes down from his room to get rid of the feeling that they are catching up to him.

The pack has this habit of stopping to watch him like he’s made of glass. Like he’s so fragile from hiding in his bed and not talking, that if they keep up their conversations he’ll crack.

He usually just curls onto one end of the couch in pajamas and hoodies that pool on him, depending on which packmate they’re from.

The conversation picks back up eventually, an episode may have already passed without Stiles’ notice.

Isaac is quiet on the opposite end of the couch and staring off like he does when he’s stuck in another time.

Stiles finds himself moving before he even thinks enough to hold his disgusting soul back from the wolf. Isaac startles out of his daydreams, or day terrors, before relaxing into Stiles’ cuddles. 

It takes both of them a few minutes to realize everyone is practically holding their breath at the fact that Stiles is willingly curled up to another person. When Stiles shifts uncomfortably, Isaac pulls him into his side tighter with a growl and reburies his face in the slightly older boy’s hair.

—

Sometimes he wakes up screaming and thrashing under the covers, memories wrapped around his vision and digging in like barbed wire. 

It takes Derek a while to calm him down, sometimes he needs Scott’s help. Sometimes he doesn’t want to be touched by Derek because of the things he’s done, things that only a brother could still love him after doing. 

On those nights, Derek’s hold is a little tighter and his eyes are a little sadder.

Everyone the next day is a little more solemn, but Stiles doesn’t ever really say anything.

—

Stiles doesn’t leave Derek’s, ever.

Until it all goes to Hell again.


	5. Don't Let Me Drown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter, ever the trigger happy one, was on the porch snarling before the other ‘wolves knew what was happening. 
> 
> “Did you really think you could just take him off the face of the planet for a few days and then come back to Beacon Hills and I wouldn’t notice?” Aednat looked stormy and condescending at the same time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is very much a short chapter, but I wanted to let you guys know this story isn't dead and neither is the muse apparently. Thank you bunches to SpicySweet, logging on to see encouraging words about continuing was very nice!

They hear her approach before she’s even close to reaching the front door of the house. The only reason she didn’t just suprise them inside the house is most likely the additions they asked Deaton to add to their wards.

 

Peter, ever the trigger happy one, was on the porch snarling before the other ‘wolves knew what was happening.

 

“Did you really think you could just take him off the face of the planet for a few days and then come back to Beacon Hills and I wouldn’t notice?” Aednat looked stormy and condescending at the same time.

 

“You won’t be touching him again.” Derek said, arms crossed and stance widened.

 

“I made a deal with Stiles, not with you mutts.” Her lip curled.

 

Peter stepped forward. “You made a deal with the wrong human.”

 

“No,” Aednat said, tilting her head to the side. “But I’m thinking I made a mistake not having your pack taken care of.”

 

A rumble was heard and then Malia was howling as teeth tore through her arm and she was pulled out away from the house. Derek charged Aednat and all Hell broke lose.

 

\--

 

Stiles had hardly left his own room in the pack house, let alone felt sunlight on his skin in weeks. He couldn’t ignore the sounds, though. There was breaking and yelling, roaring and screaming, cackling and shouting.

 

He ventured down the stairs still wrapped in the soft throw blanket Derek liked to bundle him up in. Stiles hesitated behind the front door, thinking of all the recent times he’s heard noises like that and hating himself. With a deep inhale, he shoved the door open before he could think too hard.

 

A few demons from Aednat’s trusted circle were in various locations around the yard. One was trying to hold a black wolf’s jaw to keep its teeth from snapping around it’s throat. Aednat was cackling as she and Peter refused to back down as they took shots and swiped at each other. Kira had her sword out, attacking invisible creatures that were viciously attacking them all.

 

There was blood on everyone.

 

The blanket fell from around his shoulders in a pile on the deck. “ _Stop._ ”

 

Aednat spoke a word in another language and everything in the yard stopped. “Son of a _bitch._ They actually did it.”

 

“Technically, the contract was never broken.” Stiles’ voice was rough and slightly more unsure than it used to be, but it was clear that he wanted to make a point.

 

Within one blink and the next she was directly in front of Stiles and Derek snarled, muscles tensing to leap forward as he snapped his teeth.

 

“I have to say, I’m pissed off about the situation. You were one of my favorites.”

 

She felt a hot puff of air on her back and turned to find a huge wolf. Its teeth bared and head lowered, yet still standing tall at elbow height. “I would suggest not pissing him off,” Peter taunted, looking at his claws.

 

“Stiles is right,” Aednat raised her chin. “Technically, the contract wasn’t broken. I’ll leave him here for now, but I have a bone to pick with all of the rest of you.”

 

Lydia’s car pulled in the driveway and she ran up the drive toward the pack, stopping short at the sight of the demon in front of Stiles.

 

Aednat turned back to Stiles, and he had to hide a flinch. “I suppose now we know you have a much more powerful bargaining chip, if you ever decide you need to make a deal again.”

 

She was gone with that, and everything she brought with her was gone moments after.

 

Stiles turned and threw up.

 

\--

 

“Dinner is ready,” Derek called softly from the doorway. Stiles had been wrapped up in a blanket in the window seat, staring at the yard the hounds and demons had been in for the last hour. He looked over at Derek like he wanted to say something. Derek padded over gently and sat on the window seat next to him, so he could pull him into his chest gently. Stiles curled up there, almost feeling warm enough to be normal through the blanket, if not for the goosebumps Derek could see on his arms when he moved. “What’s wrong?”

 

“I’m sorry everyone got hurt,” Stiles rasped.

 

“That’s not your fault, Stiles. And you know we would do anything for you.”

 

Stiles didn’t respond.

 

“You know, your dad would really like to see you. He calls me every day hoping you’ll be ready.”

 

“I don’t want...” Stiles trailed off before shoving his face into Derek’s chest more.

 

“You don’t want what?”

 

Stiles voice is a whisper. “I don’t want to see the way he looks at me now. Now that I’ve done all that I’ve done, and you guys know about it. I don’t want to see his face.”

 

Derek’s grip on Stiles tightened. “You know that no one blames you for that, Stiles. God, I wish I could take all the guilt and memories from you. Your soul was gone, baby. That wasn’t on you. You should have never had to do that. No one blames you.”

 

“I blame me.” Stiles muttered, furiously rubbing the back of his hand on his face.

 

“I wish you wouldn’t,” Derek whispered into his hair, pressing a kiss there and rocking them a little more. “Just think about seeing your dad, okay? He loves you unconditionally, Stiles. You should know that by now.”

 

Stiles nods, “I’ll think about it.”

 

“Let’s go eat dinner.”

 

 

 


End file.
